


Learn to Want

by Mici (noharlembeat)



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Character Study, Civil War, Gen, Imprisonment, M/M, Tony Stark is a douche, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noharlembeat/pseuds/Mici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billly's jailtime during the Civil War, and dealing with being trapped in his own head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn to Want

Billy has never wanted anything quite so badly in his whole life. And the funny thing is that this is the one thing that he can’t get, the one thing he can bend reality for. No matter how much he forces his brain to fuzzily conjure up the words _I want to go home_ , he can’t make his mouth say them, and even the few times a day where they take the brace off his mouth, it’s like there’s a barrier between his brain and the rest of his body. 

Sometimes, though, when he’s not exhausted from the power suppressors and the weight of his mask, he’ll manage stray thoughts. The memories aren’t always what he expects, but the days are long and he can’t always control what comes into his head anymore, here. Since he learned about his magic he’s never been so scattered, because he’s always had a fear that if he wasn’t in control all the time everything would explode into pieces, that the world would rearrange itself while he was asleep.

So things like his mother’s kugel mashes together with the rat-tat-tat of gunfire from the night that they had been caught the first time. His brothers playing in Central Park turns into cold, gutting fear of what registration means for him, when his powers basically could turn the world upside down if he went evil. Billy doesn’t discount things like that. Heroes go bad all the time, just like bad guys go good. He knows that Tony Stark, king of the douches, totally wouldn’t let him just run around. He’d give an analogy that would make Billy sound like a teenaged nuclear warhead. Tommy would be proud. Tommy was in juvie, Billy remembers, vaguely. Tommy wasn’t just some kid.

A kid who couldn’t even go mano-a-mano with a pickle jar. Two days before registration was announced, Billy had to actually get Teddy to open the jar for him.

The image of Teddy laughing at him and the pickle jar is like a shot to his teeth; jarring and painful and Billy wishes that he could see straight but the power suppressors don’t only serve to make him exhausted and nauseous, but they do something funny to his eyes, too. He’s pretty sure that’s not how they’re supposed to work, he’s almost positive that they’re not supposed to make him feel like he wants to die, but no one will listen to him even though he’s just a kid.

He wonders if anyone’s come after him. He wonders if Cap’s let them. He wonders if Tony Stark caught Teddy too, if Teddy is in some cell in this hellhole, wondering if Billy is coming after him. He wonders, and he doesn’t know, but before the line of thought can go too far Billy always gets distracted. He’s too tired for serious thought but he can’t sleep well. The nightmares aren’t as bad as the holding cells, some days, but other days…what if they found out how to make it so that when someone cut open Teddy, he stayed cut open? When Billy closes his eyes, sometimes he sees the Cube. Sometimes when he closes his eyes he sees his bedroom and Teddy’s smiling face, and he isn’t sure which is worse.

He’s not sure how long he’s been there; days, weeks, months, time’s stopped and sped up and slowed down so many times in this place that Billy hasn’t been able to keep track. Guards filter in and out of his consciousness, but he doesn’t pay attention to them. He keeps curled up until one day there’s Tony Stark looking down at him like he’s disappointed, or something.

“This could be a lot more comfortable for you if you would just register,” he offers, like there’s a choice, like there’s hope that route. Billy sits in his corner; as long as he’s in this corner, he’s decided, no one can touch him, no one can hurt him, even though he knows it’s not true. Tony Stark can hurt him. Tony Stark can make everything better but more likely it’ll just make everything worse.

The worst part, is that somewhere in Billy’s traitor head, there’s a voice (it sounds something like his mother and his bubbe, all Jewish and worried) that says to take the offer. To give up. To register and get out, and Billy wants to agree, because the terror of being trapped forever, of being locked here, of finding out that no one can get him out, or worse that no one want to get him out is almost too much. He knows he’s crying and he hates that it’s in front of Stark, who was his hero forever, almost as much as Cap. He hates that everything that the Avengers were and everything they stood for is in front of him and it’s trying to make him split in two.

_IwanttogohomeIwanttogohomeIwanttogohom—IwantTeddyIwantTeddyIwantTeddyIwantTeddy oh god just-_

The thoughts slam against him and he shakes his head. The weight of the mask makes it hard, and the room goes dark once Stark leaves.

And it goes light again, not that much later, or maybe it’s a few days, Billy can’t keep track. “Kaplan, William, codename: Wiccan,” a voice says, and Billy isn’t sure whose it is, but he recognizes the man in the doorway by the ridiculous looking antennae that are plastered to the side of his head. Hank Pym is bigger in real life, and Billy can tell the irony in that statement even though he feels sluggish and slow and stupid. 

Hank’s hands are gentle when they touch Billy’s arm, and then his waist, and Billy feels a deeper, sicker fear fill his gut. He twists and lashes and he knows that his knuckles connected with flesh, but he knows he’s too weak, too afraid. The adrenaline that’s in his system is uncomfortable, and Hank’s voice is boomingly deep. “Billy, Billy-“

Billy hates the sound of his name for a second, and Hank’s hands are getting stronger against him, and he’s about to lash again when the voice changes, gets softer, a little higher, more familiar. “Billy, it’s _me_ ,” Teddy’s voice is urgent and Billy’s so shocked he’s still. “God, Bill, it’s _me_ , you have to…” Hank’s mouth stops moving, Teddy’s voice _stops_ , and Billy’s sure he’s gone insane because there is no way that Teddy is Hank Pym or Hank Pym is Teddy. He must be having a nightmare, and he’s crying again and he hates it, he hates feeling weak and soft and pathetic. “Bill, don’t cry, look, I have to…just stay here.”

Billy wants to quip – where else is he going to go, the mall? – at the same time that he wants to hold on to the sound of Teddy’s voice, because it’s the only tiny bit of comfort he’s had and he isn’t even sure it’s real. Hank Pym’s hands let go, and one of them moves to ruffle Billy’s hair, just like Teddy does. 

The door slams closed again, and Billy closes his eyes. It’s a dream, he knows. It has to be.

It has to be.

_IwantTeddyIwanttogohomeIwantTeddyIwanttohome_

Billy wonders if the spell doesn’t work because he doesn’t know which he wants more. It bounces in his head like static, like electricity buzzing and dissolving into the air.


End file.
